If you have a loved one with cancer or if you are having a love affair with cancer join me here. This is an uplifting, alluring and realistic saga of Love in the Time of cancer. I am also writing this because as Mark Twain said, “I don’t want to hear about the moon from a man who has not been there.” Loving a man with cancer is my moon. Take the next step with me.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Bye Bye Lance

The Amy Winehouse House was not asked for an official
comment on last night’s Oprah interview with Lance Armstrong. But our founder
taught us to never wait to be asked. So here goes: We haven’t liked that dopey
guy for years. He is arrogant, mean—(such mean little eyes, no?) and now the
fool has taken on Oprah. Oh well. Our dear founder (RIP) was a musician and
singer and had only great respect for her peers so we couldn’t help shouting at
the TV, “Ask Cheryl Crowe!” and “This jerk broke Cheryl Crowe’s heart?”
Watching this guy with Oprah can you just imagine what a prick he was in an
intimate relationship? Cheryl, you are in a better place. And yes, our dear Amy
is too.

For those of you who are new and have not heard about our
specialized cancer support center here is a post from 2009 when I created The
Amy Winehouse House:

(Love in the Time of Cancer 2009)

A couple of weeks ago we visited a local support group for
people with cancer to see what services or support might be available. The
house is lovely and there are many activities, support groups etc. But about 30
minutes into the orientation I picked up the whiff of overriding condescension
that accrues around cancer. Part of it is the pastel and pretty approach to
surroundings but it’s also apparent in the tone of voice that is used by staff.
It’s a cross between the voice you use when talking to a small child and the
voice one uses talking to someone with Down’s syndrome or to someone in the
midst of a psychotic break. The other hint at condescension is the two-handed
handshake: the staff member takes both of your hands in theirs. This is
accompanied by the long, deep gaze, which immediately feels like someone told
the staff how important it is to make eye contact and that “people with cancer
need to be seen.” Well, they are going to make dam sure you know you are seen.

But the greatest tip off to the fact that once you have
cancer you’ll never be treated like a competent adult again is revealed in the
list of activities offered. At the support center, the counselor told me--with
that kindergarten teacher lilt in her voice, “We get together on Thursdays and
make smoothies.” Smoothies. As I told
John on the way home, “I have never made a smoothie in my life so why would I
make smoothies in someone else’s kitchen with a group of strangers just because
you have cancer?”

That smoothie was the turning point for me and it set me to
thinking about the kind of cancer support place I’d like to create. Hence the
birth of The Amy Winehouse House. So
here are some of the things that are offered at the Amy Winehouse House:

The mission of The Amy Winehouse House is: Fuck Cancer

We believe that cancer and its treatment is fierce and so
everything around it should meet that fierceness head on and not back down into
pastel prettiness. We don’t coddle and we don’t play word games. We don’t parse
“living with” versus “dying from” cancer.

At the Amy Winehouse House we are not nice and not pastel.
We don’t believe that having cancer makes you nice or pastel either. If you
were a jackass before you got cancer now you are a jackass with cancer. We
don’t ask you to share, process, make crafts or drink smoothies. We offer no
bookmarks or anything that has or requires a crocheted cover.

All activities at the Amy Winehouse House are optional and
include:

Making martinis

Strip poker night

Learning how to hot wire a car

Our book group is currently reading, “Snuff” by Chuck
Palahniuk

We have a smoking room ((if you have cancer and are going to
die we want you to enjoy a cigarette on us.)

On Saturday nights we have strippers. Yes for girls too.

And we certainly do have drug education. We think of this as self-chemo. Our role
model, Amy Winehouse, was an expert on self-chemo. Our self-chemo classes explain
how to smoke crack and how to play the cancer card to score some medical
marijuana. Our movie nights include pornography. (After all, cancer is pornographic so why get
all puppyish and pastel about something that is violent and intrusive.)

In future entries I’ll explain the Board of Directors and
our policy for volunteers. (We don’t have tee shirts but you do have to wear
eyeliner.) We’ll also talk about why we hate Lance Armstrong (We call him “One
Ball” around the House.) And, yes, we have bracelets too, but ours say, “Fuck
Cancer.”